


Like Wenda

by Furious_Winter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furious_Winter/pseuds/Furious_Winter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Wenda

**Author's Note:**

> For axgweek 2015, "wet" prompt.
> 
> This was the only thing I could come up with and it didn't really fit any of the prompts very well, so... I just went with this one. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

“Please! I didn’t hurt no one.” The thief sat on the ground, supporting himself with one hand and clutching his leg with the other, Anguy’s arrow having gone clean through. “I only took their silver, nothing more.” He reached into his shirt and pulled a small pouch from it, tossing it to the dirt at their feet. 

Anguy kept his bow drawn, ready to loose another into the man’s skull. “That’s not what the girl’s father told us. He says you raped her.”

 _“No!_ I did no such thing, I swear it!” He was crying now. “I only threatened to, so’s he’d give me the silver!”

The wind was beginning to pick up and the grumbling thunder was growing louder by the moment. Anguy looked over to Arya for direction. She glanced from Anguy to the thief, his sobbing becoming more and more fervent, before returning her eyes to Anguy’s. Finally, she spoke, “He’s lying.”

Anguy forcefully kicked him over, and when the man tried to crawl away he stomped on his wounded leg. He cried out in pain, grasping wildly at Anguy’s foot and trying to push it off. 

“You’re sure, Arry?” asked Lucas, one of the Brotherhood’s more recent recruits. 

She smiled at him. “Have you ever known me to be wrong?”

Lucas paused, and then nodded in agreement. Arya stepped forward and crouched down to pick up the pouch of silver, examining it before opening it and emptying its contents into her hand. 

“Five pieces.” She moved them about in her palm as she gazed at them. 

“Ten.” the man choked out. “There are _ten_ pieces!”

“Tell me, was it worth it?”

“I never touched his daughter, for true, I swear!” The man pleaded, “Please, just take the silver and leave me be!”

A flash of light briefly lit up their surroundings followed by a powerful clap of thunder. Their horses, tethered to a tree, whinnied and shook their heads in disapproval. She looked the man in the face. “Leave him be, Anguy.”

Removing his foot with a final shove, Anguy backed away and the man cried out again as he grasped his leg, sitting up and moaning softly. “Thank you,” he sobbed, “thank you.”

She let the coins fall back into the pouch and placed it in her tunic as she rose to her feet. “You never answered my question. _Was it worth it?”_ she asked again as she slowly approached him. 

He looked up at her, confused. “What? What d’you mean?” 

Walking around behind him now, she sunk down and placed a calming hand on the man’s shoulder. He jumped at first, but then settled. “Five pieces of silver and a girl’s innocence.” Briefly glancing to Lucas and Anguy, she could just barely make out their darkened expressions in the fading light. “Was it worth your life?”

“No, _don’t!”_ He started to pull away, but she gripped him and pulled her blade across his neck as soon as his protest left his lips. 

She held him there, feeling his sputters, jerks and convulsions as he choked and drowned on his own blood. After a moment, he finally quieted and went limp in her arms. _The wolves can have him._ She pushed his lifeless body over onto the ground and stood, looking up to the sky. “We’d best hurry.”

They arrived at The Peach just as the heavens opened their floodgates, and by the time they’d settled their horses in the stable they were drenched. As they entered, she tried to not to shiver and was thankful that it was very warm in the modest brothel, the jovial sounds and clamor from the patrons and its workers almost drowning out the cacophonous medley of the raging storm outside.

“M’lady, you’re soaked!” One of the whores, Rana, quickly approached her and put an arm about her shoulders. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes before you get the shaking sickness.” Most of the girls at The Peach doted on her, and although she didn’t like that they gave her special treatment just because she was a girl, she also didn’t like the special treatment she was given by most of the men in the Brotherhood for the same reason. 

“Did you find him?” Before she even turned around, her breath caught in her throat. 

_Does he now come here every night?_ Stopping and rounding to face him, she felt the familiar and unbeckoned pang in the center of her chest as she looked into his deep, angry blue eyes. It was the same pang she felt when she was suddenly frightened, was scared for her life or feared for someone else’s. 

Gendry didn’t wait for her answer as he looked her up and down, eyeing the blood stains on her tunic, trousers, hands and arms. He scowled. “Their silver?” She reached inside her shirt and pulled out the pouch, tossing it to him. Catching it, he opened it and peered inside. “There are ten pieces here. He only took five.”

Arya turned back around and started for the stairs. “Dead men have little use for silver.”

Once upstairs, Rana helped her to a bath. “Tell me, m’lady, is it exciting?” she asked as she rubbed a rag on Arya’s back. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Riding with the Brotherhood, fighting, and adventuring.” Rana sighed wistfully. “We talk of it often, especially after you visit.”

Arya smiled at her. “Yes,” she lied, “it’s like something out of a song.”

Pleased with her response, Rana paused for a moment and blushed before dipping the rag back in the water, wringing it out and resuming. “When I was a young girl, mayhaps three or four, my sister used to tell me stories of Wenda.”

Arya stared ahead of her, her thoughts elsewhere. “The White Fawn,” she whispered.

“Yes, m’lady.” Rana nodded. “Have you heard the songs?”

“Not in a long while.” Arya admitted. “Tom doesn’t seem to know any of them.”

“I used to wonder what that might be like, to ride with men and fight them, to take highborn captives and ransom them off to their families,” she giggled, “to brand their bums.” When her laughter subsided, she grew more serious. “When my family was killed, I had no place to go.” She cleared her throat. “No place but here. And it pleases me to know that someone like you keeps me safe, keeps all of us safe.”

Arya turned to her, unsure of what she meant. “Someone like me?”

“Someone like Wenda.” Rana gazed at her warmly. “As much as I liked to think about it, I didn’t believe a woman could truly do anything like that. I thought they were only songs, only stories.” She dipped the rag in the water and then squeezed it out over Arya’s head, placing a hand on her forehead and tilting it back to keep the water from running in her eyes. “What does it feel like, Lady Arry?” She began to scrub at the dried blood on her arm. Her tone was stoic. “To kill someone?”

Biting her lip, Arya looked down to the water. It was a light, faint, translucent shade of red. “That depends on the killing. Sometimes it feels wonderful, like taking back something that was stolen from you.” Her shaky reflection stared back at her. “Other times, it’s just… like nothing at all.” Rana again stopped washing her. After a moment, Arya raised her head to look at her. _She looks scared._ And she was silent. Below them, the sounds of the raucous common room were nearly drowned out by the hammering rain on the roof and the southern wall. The lone window in the washroom shuddered against the winds and water, and a potent boom shook the entire foundation. 

Rana finally broke from her trance. She frowned and asked, “Which was it today when you killed the man who raped the farmer’s daughter? Was it wonderful, or…?"

Arya gave her a weak, comforting smile. “It felt like it wasn’t enough.”

When she’d finished with her bath, Rana helped her into a small tunic and trousers and quickly braided her long, brown hair. She motioned to the tired straw bed in the corner. “This room is yours tonight when begin to feel tired, m’lady.” 

Arya thanked her and watched as she walked to the door. Just short of it, Arya called out to her. “You don’t need to call me that. ‘M’lady.’”

Rana turned around and smiled bashfully. “I know. But I’d like to, if you don’t mind.”

Arya nodded. Although the men of the Brotherhood and especially Gendry knew better, she allowed the girls at The Peach that one privilege. 

“One of these days, m’lady, they’ll sing songs about you, too.” With that, she left. 

Her mind felt foggy and tired, but her body was wide awake. Briefly, she considered going immediately to bed. _But Gendry is here,_ she easily remembered. If nothing else, she needed to make an appearance in the common room or else he might be offended. 

When she reached the bottom of the stairs and began to cross to the bar, Lem approached her and gave her a congratulatory slap on the back. “Arry! Another notch on yer belt!” he laughed and motioned to Walla, the bartender. “Give ‘er a drink!”

She took the praise in stride, knowing that Lem meant only well. He seemed to think of her more like a daughter than a comrade and never failed to celebrate her achievements. She played it down. “Anguy deserves a drink if anyone.” She hopped onto a stool and turned around, grinning to him where he sat in the corner with Gendry and Myna. Walla set a mug in front of her and she picked it up, raising it to him. “He’s the one that rode the bastard down.” Having used the word intentionally, she noticed Gendry’s scowl. 

Practically in Gendry’s lap, Myna laughed drunkenly, leaning her head back and pushing her breasts up toward Gendry’s face. “Three cheers for Anguy!” Myna shouted as she raised her cup, spilling some of it on herself in the process. 

The whole while, Gendry’s eyes stayed locked on Arya. He looked almost angry, with his shaggy black locks hanging into his sharp, deep blues, but he almost always looked angry. She shot him a teasing, devilish grin and was about to call out to him, but a hand on her shoulder demanded her attention.

“Fancy a game, Arry?” Lucas asked as he sat down to her left. 

She blinked at him skeptically. “I’d say yes, but you’re not getting any better.” He was a terrible liar and he lied terribly often. “I’m growing tired of winning all the time.”

He chuckled at that, smiling. Arya found Lucas to be fiendishly attractive, especially when he smiled. His teeth were mostly white and he was missing only one, a molar whose absence was only noticeable when he grinned very widely. He had long, dark hair and emerald eyes that twinkled when he jested. Although he had the face of a northerner and spoke like one, he claimed to be from a noble house in The Reach, though she’d never heard of it. This, among many, was one of the lies she’d allowed him. “I _have_ gotten better. Last time we played, I got you three times.”

She took a swallow from her mug before responding. “That’s because you cheat.”

“I do _not.”_ He nudged her arm with his elbow, a sly grin on his face. When she said nothing back, he finally asked, “What makes you think I cheated?”

“You’re supposed to tell one truth and one lie.” He nodded. “Three times, you told two lies.”

Scoffing, Lucas took a drink. “I did no such thing.”

“The first was when you said that you bedded a woman when you were five and ten, and that you’ve never bedded a whore.” She eyed him skeptically. “Both are lies. In fact, I’d venture to say that you’ve _only_ bedded whores. And only recently, at that.” Arya downed the remainder of her drink, noticing the blush that crept onto Lucas’ cheeks. 

“And the other lies?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

She didn’t have time to answer, as a mug slammed down on the bar to her right. Arya looked over and, briefly, the pang in her chest threatened to compromise her composure. “Is Lucas bothering you, Arry?” Gendry grumpily asked.

“No.” She looked away from him and motioned for Walla to bring her another drink. “We were just about to start a game.”

“Oh?” He looked mildly surprised, only to don another shadow as he asked, “Is it a game just for highborns, or are bastards allowed as well?”

Arya laughed at that as she reached out to take her refilled mug from Walla. “Only for highborns? Do you expect me to play by myself?” Gendry and Lucas didn’t seem to understand what she meant by that. 

“It’s funny, is it?” He frowned. 

“We tell one truth and one lie, and then you guess which is which.” Lucas explained. 

“There’s no ‘guessing,’” Arya corrected him, “you tell which one is which and if you’re wrong, you take a drink.”

“That’s a stupid game.” Gendry sneered. “If you can’t tell when the other person is lying, what’s the point? They could lie about the lie and make you drink every time.”

Lucas leaned forward and looked past Arya to Gendry. “Do you lack honor, ser? If so, you can’t play.”

“He’s right.” Arya agreed. “You won’t get anything past me, but poor Lucas can’t recognize a lie to save his skin.” She nodded over to Anguy and Myna in the corner. She pouted. “And it looks like Myna is already beginning to miss you.”

“Fine.” Gendry straightened up and Arya thought he was about to get up and leave, but instead he motioned to Lucas. “Go ahead.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows, apparently as shocked as Arya that Gendry was willing to play. “Alright.” He took a drink and then looked to Arya. “I fancy you. And so does Gendry.”

Hearing Gendry shuffle in his seat beside her, she waited. When Lucas said nothing else, she asked, “And the lie?”

He looked almost offended. “One of those _is_ the lie.” A clap of thunder seemed to emphasize his assertion.

“No, you’re cheating again.” Arya took another drink and glanced over to Gendry. He looked angry enough to start a fight and was staring intently at Lucas. “Both of those were true.”

“Really?” Lucas asked, looking at Gendry. “You fancy her?”

Saying nothing, Gendry got up and walked, heavy footed, back to the corner with Anguy and Myna. 

Arya watched him the whole while before turning back to Lucas. She tisked. “Oh, now you’ve gone and pissed him off.”

“I didn’t realize…” Lucas’ voice trailed off, but Arya heard the truth in it. “Is he angry that you know or angry that I fancy you as well?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Smirking, she took a large gulp from her mug. “It’s my turn.”

Lucas, to his credit, started out playing fairly. However, before long he again resorted to dishonesty, telling either two lies or two truths and then vehemently denying it when she’d call him out. They played for the better part of two hours, Gendry occasionally sulking over and refilling his, Myna and Anguy’s drinks. He’d get close enough to hear what they were talking about, but as soon as Arya would try to acknowledge him he’d turn his back to her or pretend he hadn’t heard. Still, she didn’t miss the seething looks and stares he was giving her. She hadn’t seen him like this since they were children. 

Finally, Arya grew tired of the game and bid Lucas farewell. With one last look over her shoulder to Gendry, she noticed that Myna was doing her best to remove his shirt. He was beet red in the face and drunkenly protesting. Arya quietly laughed to herself and then crept up the stairs.

The small straw bed in the brothel’s washroom was far from comfortable, but also far more accommodating than sleeping on the ground. Quietly, Arya undressed and crawled into it, blowing out the candle on the nightstand. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she rested them on the mug Rana had left beside the candle. She briefly considered drinking its contents, but thought the better of it. She was already feeling quite sleepy and the thunderstorm outside on top of the ale she’d drunk only intensified her drowsiness. Before she’d even fully made up her mind, she drifted off to sleep. 

“Arya.” Gendry’s voice brought her from her slumber. “Arya, wake up.” She blinked away her drowsiness and saw Gendry standing above her, a small candle at hand. “Were you sleeping?” he asked. 

_Was I sleeping?_ Arya sometimes was left a loss for how dense he could be. “What do you want?” she yawned, sitting up and carelessly allowing the sheet to slide from her chest. “Has Myna already finished with you?”

“That’s not funny.” he glowered and set the candle on the nightstand. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the mug beside it. 

“Tea.” Arya answered simply.

“May I have some?” he asked gruffly.

She reached for the mug and took a long, deep swallow before resting it just in front of her breasts. “You wouldn’t like it.” she answered, grinning.

He studied her for a time, his brow in its familiar furrow, and then without taking his eyes from her, he began removing his clothes. Arya watched him in the candlelight, quickly finishing her tea and taking in his every move. Once he was naked as his nameday, he lifted the sheet and crawled in beside her. She moved over to accommodate him and once he’d settled, she curled into him and rested her head on his chest. Gendry put his arm over her and drew her in closer. They lay there for what felt like an hour, just breathing and listening to the sounds of the storm. He smelled faintly of lavender. “Did you bathe today,” she asked, “or is that just Myna’s perfume?”

“I did.” he replied, ignoring the latter part of her question. 

“Does Myna prefer you that way?” She was determined to get under his skin one way or another.

Gendry began lightly rubbing his fingers up and down her back. “I wouldn’t know.” She nuzzled his chest and softly kissed it as he brought his hand down towards her thigh, beginning to tease her back. “Rana seems to like you a lot. She went on about you after you’d gone upstairs.”

“Is that so?” Arya asked, uninterested in the story as she reached down to his hand on her thigh in hopes of coaching it.

“She says that someday, they’ll write songs about you. Just like Wenda.”

“Mmhmm.” She barely heard him.

“And that she’ll sing them to her children when she puts them to bed at night.” When she said nothing, he pulled his hand away from hers and brought it up to her lips, brushing them with his thumb. “Someday, I’ll sing those songs to my children as well.”

Arya blinked and looked him in his beautiful eyes. “You can’t sing.”

“I can so.” Gendry smiled at her for the first time that evening, and he got a childish, stupid look about him as he began to sing, _“My featherbed is deep and soft,”_

“Shut up.” she muttered and turned over, putting her back to him. 

_“And there I’ll lay you down,”_ she could hear the grin in his voice as pulled her closer to him, grabbing her hand, entwining his fingers with hers and holding it to her chest as he softly sang in her ear, _“I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown,”_

That dreaded pang in her chest, the ache that she both loved and hated, struck again as she moved her body against his. As much as she wanted to despise him for singing that stupid song while he was in bed with her, _again,_ she couldn’t help but lose herself in him; in his voice, his warmth and his touch. 

_“For you will be my lady love, and I will be your lord,”_

She turned back just enough to silence him with a long, deep kiss. She finally broke it when she felt his hand on her breast and she gasped. 

_“I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.”_ He kissed her again, more forcefully this time, as he moved on top of her. They felt and grasped at each other, the bedsheet quickly becoming twisted and brushed to the side as they clamored. After a moment, he paused and asked, “You finished your moon tea?”

Arya bit her lip and nodded just as he leaned down to kiss her again.


End file.
